


under starry skies (we are lost)

by guineapiggie



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Mission Fic, Rebelcaptain Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-09-30 05:23:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17217827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineapiggie/pseuds/guineapiggie
Summary: She messed up on that damn factory on Listoria, almost got herself arrested. He had to come back for her, and he did; but it hadn’t been like Scarif. On Scarif, him coming back for her felt… Force, she could’ve sworn she’d never felt that ecstatically, ridiculously happy in her entire life.On Listoria, though, there’d just been a wholly different look on his face – one that let her know that she’d let him down.She understands that. He can’t afford liabilities.And she’s a liability in these shoes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FreakCityPrincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreakCityPrincess/gifts).



“This doesn’t fit right.”

“Yes, it does,” Syrah says, entirely unimpressed.

“It’s too tight,” she gives back through gritted teeth. “I can’t _inhale._ ”

The Twi’lek fitting her dress makes an impatient little sound. “The fabric will give.”

“I doubt that.”

Jyn throws a dark look into the mirror and eyes where the shimmering green fabric wraps around her ribcage. “It’s too tight, I can’t move –“

“It’s supposed to fit this way, sergeant,” the Twi’lek gives back impatiently. “The skirt should give your legs enough room to move.”

Jyn very much doubts that, and besides she worries that her breasts might fall out of the low neckline if she bends over. Not because the dress is _loose,_ on the contrary – there is so little room for any part of her that the only way for her breasts to go is up. _Perfect._ She neither has a lot of cleavage nor affection for people staring at said cleavage, and the extreme discomfort is just making her more irritable. She’s going to punch someone on this stupid party, she just knows it.

She tugs at the strands of hair falling into her face in annoyance. Force, this whole thing is just the _worst_. She’s squeezed into a stupid shimmery dress that somehow manages to reveal an uncomfortable amount of skin _and_ restrict every movement she has attempted so far, and on top of all that if they run into trouble, she won’t see a damn thing because her hair will be in her face.

Not to mention the shoes. The shoes might have to be where she draws the line.

“Why can’t I just wear something else?”

“So you don’t get both of you noticed and shot by a ‘trooper, Lianna,” Arin’s voice comes from the door, making her flinch. “This is what they wear at these things.”

Jyn sighs and turns around to their contact, somewhat wobbly. “Yeah, I see that, but –“

“You gotta be wearing the kriffing dress if I’m supposed to get you in there. I ain’t risking my neck if you don’t even look the part,” Arin says gruffly and enters with heavy steps, Cassian right on his heels, quiet and pale with a datapad in hand. A common occurrence, as of late.

They haven’t talked a lot lately. Well, not like they used to, anyway – but she supposes she can’t expect that. He doesn’t _owe_ her anything, least of all sitting up in some dark and quiet corner of the hangar in all those nights she can’t sleep. She misses it, so much more than she’d ever admit, but she understands. He doesn’t owe her anything, and she messed up on that damn factory on Listoria, almost got herself arrested. He had to come back for her, and he did; but it hadn’t been like Scarif. On Scarif, him coming back for her felt… Force, she could’ve sworn she’d never felt that ecstatically, ridiculously happy in her entire life. On Listoria, though, there’d just been a wholly different look on his face – one that let her know that she’d let him down.

She understands that. He can’t afford liabilities.

And she’s a liability in these shoes.

Cassian doesn’t look up from the datapad. He’s back in that horrible uniform that always makes her flinch, and it looks just as good on him as it did on Scarif.

“Yeah, well, as you can see, I’m wearing the kriffing dress,” she says towards Arin, not bothering to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “But if we need a getaway, I –“

“Jyn, don’t make this harder than it has to be, we have to blend in,” Cassian says quietly, not looking up. The stupid dress feels even tighter, somehow.

“You could’ve gone with Syrah here, if I’m so much trouble.”

“That would be frowned upon for a high ranking Imp, sergeant,” the Twi’lek says flatly and Jyn grimaces. Kriff, of course it would. _Think before you speak, Jyn._

“Yes. I – point is the shoes.”

“The shoes,” their contact repeats in a resigned tone, and she nods, trying to catch Cassian’s gaze.

“I can’t run in them. I’ll slow us down.” _Again._

Cassian’s dark eyes flicker up for just a second, then immediately away again. “People will notice if you’re not wearing them. If we have to run, you’ll have to take them off,” he says in that strange voice he’s been using around her since Listoria, quiet and without inflection. (According to Solo, this is just what he sounds like to the rest of the base, but she hears the difference and she hates it.)

“Alright, that’s all the fashion advice I have time for,” Arin mutters, shaking his head. “Get ready, we’re leaving in five.”

“Yes,” Cassian mutters absent-mindedly, and Arin shoots her a last, uncomfortably approving look and shuffles out of the room.

“Cassian,” she says quietly once he’s out of earshot. “I’m serious. I don’t want to get us in trouble again.”

“I don’t like it, either,” he replies, sounding annoyed now, but still fixing his eyes on his datapad like his life depends on it. (She supposes it does, but – damn it, that’s really not the point). “But people would ask too many questions. Have you memorised the floorplans?”

She’s starting to get irritable herself now. It’s like he suddenly thinks she’s got bantha shit for brains – Listoria wasn’t even her _fault._ Well, it was, she let herself get hit, but it wasn’t like she’d done anything stupid to deserve it, just bad luck.

“Yeah. ‘course I have,” she replies testily and reaches for her hair tie on the dresser, only to have Syrah slap her hand away.

“I did not work on this hairdo for thirty minutes for nothing, sergeant.”

She throws the red Twi’lek an angry glare and resigns herself to her fate, rubbing her empty hands over her upper arms instead. Syrah gave her something to rub on them after the ‘fresher (and, what’s worse, something for before that got rid of every last hair on her arms and legs), and now they’re all weirdly smooth and shiny. She feels cold, and extremely exposed.

“Let’s go before this kriffing dress suffocates me,” she grumbles and makes her way towards the door with decidedly wobbly steps. Damn it, these stupid things will lose her the last bit of her dignity.

Cassian raises a brow. “You’re going to manage, right?”

“Yeah,” she gives back testily, then staggers a little and curses under her breath.

Cassian’s hand twitches up, then falls back to his side, limp. He sighs.

“Do you have any other shoes, Syrah?”

The Twi’lek looks unimpressed. “No. You told me to bring appropriate shoes, and I did –“

“I’ll be _fine_ ,” Jyn says through gritted teeth, feeling her face burn. She will _not_ botch up another mission. She will not. Cassian already talks to her like she’s a complete idiot. “Let’s go.”

He still doesn’t look convinced, pensively staring at his own shoes – beautiful black leather boots, imperial issue. Jyn stole a pair once, she knows how soft they are. The rest of the uniform is no picknick, she knows that, tight collars and itchy fabric, but still. Right now, she’s almost jealous.

“I said I’ll manage, Cassian,” she snaps, feeling something hot bubbling up in her chest that tastes dangerously of disappointment. Trust can be hard, she knows that better than anyone, but damn it – he used to trust her, didn’t he? It’s not fair that he’d let _one_ mission change that. It isn’t even like they’d _failed,_ they’d got the intel, it’d just been a close call. What right does he have to treat her like this?

His dark eyes flicker up to hers again, and immediately the anger is washed away by something heavy and dark. He has _every_ right, of course – he was one of the best spies the Rebellion had, and she repaid him for his faith and loyalty with a stiff shoulder and an injured back. How can she be disappointed just because he doesn’t _trust_ her? He could _hate_ her. She should count her blessings, really.

There’s some colour in his cheeks now, stress maybe, or annoyance. He’s become harder and harder to read since she got back from the med bay.

“Alright.” She can see him stand up straight, with that sharp little inhale that he thinks nobody notices. She notices. Every time. Every time she sees the pain he thinks he’s hiding so well, and it’s her fault, and she wants to reach out and make him forget all about it and –

No, Jyn. Stop.

Cassian runs a hand through his hair, slicked back to fit regulations for an imperial officer, and fixes a genial smile on his face. It’s scary how he does that, and a part of her always wonders what it does to a person to disappear so completely behind a mask.

She forces herself to throw another look at herself in the mirror and do the same. Tanith Dor’ra, born and raised in a small mining colony, who left home to become a programmer and has been lucky enough to catch a young officer’s eye. Tanith likes things that sparkle – like this dress that seems so determined to just _barely_ hide the parts of her breasts that society considers improper and shove _all_ the rest right into everyone’s faces. Tanith likes this dress, of course she does, she is the one who picked it, after all. It _is_ a bit tight, but she’s probably angling for a proposal here on the long run, and who knows, if enough of his superiors stare at her tits, that might make her boyfriend feel possessive enough to do it. Besides, the discomfort will just make it all the more satisfying to have him tear the damn thing off her –

_Force, Jyn. More of Tanith’s smile and less of her fantasies._

(Because they are Tanith’s fantasies. Not hers. No. She’s made a point of getting that out of her system before they left.)

Again, Cassian’s – Joreth’s? – eyes flicker towards her, then immediately away again, and _force,_ she just wants him to look at her. _Really_ look.

On the good days, that is what she remembers most about the last moments on Scarif. Not the pain, not the dead, just his eyes, so warm and soft and full of want and –

She feels her throat going dry, and there’s that embarrassingly familiar ache radiating up into her stomach. Oh, damn it. Seems like she hasn’t managed to get anything out of her system at all.

Cassian makes a sudden movement to take off his jacket, startling her out of her thoughts, and she feels her cheeks burn.

“The jacket’s regulation,” she points out, praying her voice doesn’t betray her thoughts.

Something a little too tired to be called a smile twitches around his lips and he holds the jacket out to her. “We’ll seem the least threatening if it just looks like Joreth and Tanith are busy with each other, and if we slip away for a while, nobody will ask questions.”

“I know. What does that have to do with the jacket?”

Cassian’s little smirk turns bitter. “It’s a lazy attempt at chivalry, and if he gets told off for it, that’ll just make him look better in front of her. We’re trying to sell he wants to get in her pants, right?”

Jyn frowns and takes the jacket he’s still holding out to her. “That’s charming.”

“He’s not supposed to be charming, is he,” Cassian says quietly and pushes the door open. “Arin? We’re ready.”

.

She still hasn’t found a way to sit comfortably in her dress when the speeder finally slows down near the venue, no matter how much she’s tucked and pulled at the hem. Arin raises his hand in greeting and his colleagues let them pass without even stopping them, earning him those sweet, sweet credits the Rebellion doesn’t technically have to spare.

Cassian, who’s been staring stonily ahead for the entire drive, clears his throat and fiddles with the top button of his shirt, rubs the back of his neck where the tight collar is digging into soft skin. _Tight_ generally seems to be a thing with the Empire, she muses angrily, shifting in her seat.

God, she’s dying for a drink. The stronger, the better, but mostly to help her dry throat.

The speeder comes to a halt, and before she’s even realised, he’s on her side to help her out. For a moment, she’s slightly annoyed, but then she remembers her shoes, and that they’re putting on a show here.

“Thank you, Arin,” Cassian says, his tone just barely this side of condescending, and hands him what looks like a tip and is actually a small fortune. “We’ll get a room somewhere later, no need to wait up for us.”

He nudges Jyn gently, and she forces an unenthusiastic giggle.

“Yes, sir,” Arin grunts and starts up the speeder.

She can feel Cassian taking a deep breath next to her, then for the first time all day he really _looks_ at her. It turns out that after she’s allowed her thoughts to stray so much that is really not a good thing, though, because she so desperately doesn’t want to mess this up and focus on the mission, but she could _swear_ he’s looking at her just like he did in that elevator and –

He’s not, of course. Scarif was different. They were dying. Now they’re not, and she’s a liability.

“Alright?”

She nods, and stitches the smile back on Tanith’s face, vowing she won’t let it drop again. “Let’s go, darling.”

He nods, still looking at her like that. She knows it’s not the same, she _knows,_ but in the semi-darkness around them it sure looks like it, and that stings.

He reaches for her elbow and gently pulls her towards the entrance, closer than they’ve been for – Force, weeks, surely.

“Sward, and plus one,” he tells the guard by the door in a voice that is perfectly smug, and hands him their identification with a haughty smile, his hand still resting in the crook of her elbow.

Jyn remembers to smile. The guard is staring at her chest, though he clearly thinks he’s being discrete.

“Thank you. Enjoy your evening,” he grunts and hands Cassian the documents back, who pockets them without another glance at the guard.  As they enter the building, he tightens his grip on her elbow and leans down to whisper in her ear, his breath warm against the unfamiliar expanse of naked skin on her neck.

She wonders if it’s in character for Tanith to be _that_ weak in the knees. Probably not. (Whether it’s in character for _Jyn –_ is a question Cassian has taught her never to ask during a mission.)

“I know you hate the dress,” he murmurs, and this is decidedly _Cassian,_ not Joreth. “I don’t like it, either, but you’re going to have to start looking comfortable in it.”

There is a small, cold sting of disappointment in her chest at his words. Damn it, she _knew_ going in she’s looking ridiculous, but it hits her unexpectedly hard to hear him say it out loud.

“Why,” she gives back flatly, “I’ve never worn anything like this in my short mining-gal life.” She winds out of his grip to shrug off his jacket, hands it back to him and adds: “I’m supposed to look like I’d prefer it on the floor anyway, right?” It comes out sharper than she would have liked, and he throws her a strange look that she supposes means annoyance.

“It wasn’t supposed to – just stop tugging at the damn skirt.”

“Yes, sir,” she bites back and throws a waiter a sugary smile when he hands her a delicate glass full of something bright orange and sparkling.

“Don’t get too trashed, sweetheart,” he says, earning a chuckle from a nearby old major, and she feels her fingers close around the glass so tightly that she’s scared she’ll shatter it.

Force, exactly _how_ stupid does he think she is?

She throws him a fake laugh and a pointed glare. Her feet are starting to hurt. “’course not, honey, what do you think of me? I wouldn’t embarrass you like that.”

“That’s good to hear,” he mutters, with a hard little edge to his smile.

The one upside, she thinks bitterly, is that she’s not too cold in her stupid dress because he’s still so close. So unfairly, unhelpfully close, and _warm_ , fingertips pressing into the crook of her elbow…

Then he leans even closer, with a look in his eyes that’s all cheer and pride and – Karking hell, she would really like to know how he fakes the _want_ in it. Her wobbly legs have very little to do with the stupid shoes for the moment.

He presses his lips to her hair and she can hear it crinkling because of all the fixing product Syrah put into it, and suppresses a shiver.

“Do you see him anywhere?”

She shakes her head and tries her best to focus on why they’re here instead of his uniform brushing against her bare shoulder or his breath warm on her hair or his fingers on her arm.

“Let’s go find food, okay?” she says in what she hopes is Tanith’s simpering, accented voice, and not her own. “Do you have to say hello to anyone?”

“No, they’re all way too important,” he says with a scoff, that warm smile still shining in his eyes. Kriff, it genuinely looks like Cassian – no, not Cassian, that’s not Cassian; it looks like _Joreth_ is really enjoying himself.

“Let’s get you something to eat. The stuff they serve in this place, I bet you’ve never had anything like that before,” Joreth boasts. He’s all pompous and touchy on the outside, but Jyn can feel Cassian’s hand hovering, trying to touch only where he has to, carefully keeping the hand tucked into her elbow away from her torso.

Tanith smiles, lets herself be pulled along, and Jyn allows Tanith’s eyes to flicker down, just once or twice ( _possibly_ to his ass that _possibly_ looks great in those trousers, which she doesn’t know because she hasn’t looked, of course).

“What do we do, if he doesn’t keep them with him?” she mutters into his ear, bumping into him but finding, to her delight, that she is getting steadier on the shoes even as they start digging into her feet.

“Make him get them,” he replies, voice barely audible. “But they’ll be there.”

“What if we can’t access the mainframe?”

He sighs, his right arm pressing between her shoulder blades, fingers brushing into the hair on the nape of her neck. “You could’ve asked me for that a little earlier, honey,” Joreth says in playfully chiding tone, and Cassian throws her a pointed look.

She sighs and grabs his jacket for balance as they squeeze through the crowd of elderly high-ranking imperial officers and their young, dolled-up wives.

“Sorry,” she forces, relieved to find she’s finally getting the hang of Tanith’s simpering tone again. “This place is just… a lot.”

For a moment, there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that might be confusion or worry or annoyance, but is definitely Cassian; then it’s gone again and there’s Joreth’s slightly too charming smile tugging at his lips.

“We can go somewhere else if you want,” he says in that voice that sounds like a whisper but is actually meant to be overheard, and leans closer, his fingers still in her hair. “Somewhere with less people.”

Tanith giggles, hiding her face at his shoulder, and Jyn expressly _doesn’t_ notice, underneath the clinical stench of starch, that smell of… Scarif, really; just without the warm sand and the salt of the waves. Cassian’s hair, leather, linen, sweat… blood? Maybe she’s imagining that.

For just a moment, she wants to let herself lean into his arms, wants that peace back and that warm, all-encompassing certainty that she’s _not alone._

Force, she wants that back so much. She’ll take the fear and the sadness and all the rest, if she could have that feeling back too. Just for a little while.

Right. Force. _Eyes on the prize, Erso._

(It wouldn’t be the same anyway, obviously, because everything he’s doing is for the mission. Cassian’s not the one with his arm around her, Joreth is. And _Tanith_ wants Joreth, not Jyn.)

“Wait,” Cassian mutters, startling her out of her thoughts. “I see him.”

“Where?”

“Over by the big chrono, there.”

After a moment, Jyn’s eyes find a portly man fiddling with the top button of his slightly too-tight uniform. He’s quite red in the face, his forehead a little sweaty; the wide array of colours on his rank badge twinkling across the room. She wonders if his hair has thinned between now and the time their holo of him was taken.

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“Okay. Let’s get some food, get a better look at him,” Cassian mutters, his arm still around her waist, and steers them towards the buffet. The long table is bending slightly under the weight of lavish, unimaginably expensive specialties from all over the Empire, most of which Jyn has never seen before. She doubts they’re very nutritious, or taste good enough to warrant their price, but she still wonders how much they can stuff into their pockets before they leave.

She makes a point of never, _never_ passing on food – there is just no way to know when she’ll next have to go without.

"Good plan. And I want that drink," she says through gritted teeth, and this time, he doesn't argue.


	2. Chapter 2

The buffet is even more decadent up close, and Jyn finds it increasingly hard to keep Tanith’s awed, carefree smile on her lips. There are people _starving_ all over the galaxy and so was she, just a few months ago, and here they are, ignoring all common sense of what kind and how much food this party requires – not to mention about a dozen cultural customs. Jyn counts two holy animals, a fish that is said to bring death to the families of those who eat it, and at least five plants that no local would have dared to pluck.

“Trouble choosing?” Cassian leans closer and adds in a soft voice very close to her ear: “For someone who doesn’t know why this is wrong, you look very angry, Tanith.”

Jyn decides she can easily blame her shiver on her exposed arms and shoulders, and not his proximity or the warmth in his voice. She sighs.

“I know,” she mutters, readjusts her smile and reaches for a bowl full of shining fruit. “What do you think is good?”

He grabs some bread, a few slices of some purple vegetable she remembers faintly from Coruscant and a few tranches of emerald green meat. Jyn smiles faintly because she can see what he’s doing, picking carbs, protein, vegetable as he casually avoids the forbidden foods.

“Try this.”

She takes a bite and, _Force,_ she wants to hate this pretentious food. Cassian clearly has no idea what the hell he is pairing with what, the vegetable is surprisingly sour and there is too much salt and all in all it’s very hard to chew but it’s _so_ good, the tender meat and the sweet juice of the berries…

“Good?” There’s a little catch in his voice that makes her look up, and for the first time since they’ve set foot in this stupid ballroom he’s _looking_ at her. Really looking, brown eyes warm and clear and trained on her face like he’s searching for something, and she could swear there was the tiniest _real_ smile tugging at his lips, _Cassian’s_ smile.

“Weird,” she replies, in a voice that sounds too much like Jyn and not enough like Tanith. “But good, yeah.”

 _Damn it, Jyn, put yourself together. You were going to be_ competent _, remember?_

But, oh, it’s hard. It’s so hard to stay on track when she’s been longing for him to look at her like that again. Like he _cares._

“You should eat, too,” she mutters, then manages to catch herself enough to add a giggle and a “it’s damn good.”

Cassian’s smile retreats behind Joreth’s. “Told you,” he says, but obediently reaches for a little more bread and a handful of vegetables, eyes flickering to their mark.

Jyn wishes she had some pockets in this kriffing dress so she could smuggle out at least half the buffet table. She sighs, grabs a few more slices of meat and steps closer.

“Where’s his wife?”

“I don’t think he brought her,” Cassian replies with a slight smirk, then adds, nose pressed into her hair: “So, are you instable enough on your feet or do we get a drink?”

“Drink,” she says, with too much force. _Alright, rowing back_. “I mean… we have to really sell it, right?”

For just a tiny moment, she thinks she can see a splinter of… what, hurt? Maybe hurt, yes, in his eyes, before they flicker away. But she probably imagined that, because why would he be hurt because she wants a drink?

Before she has finished deliberating, he has plucked two glasses from a waiter’s tray.

“This doesn’t look very strong,” he says in an odd voice, and she has no idea if that’s Joreth or Cassian talking. “But we can always get another.”

Jyn, who’s had a good tasting of the metal cleaner that passes for alcohol with the rebels, very much doubts that she can get drunk on less than five of these glasses, but she supposes in this case that’s a good thing. They’re supposed to _look_ drunk, not _be_ drunk.

“It’ll do,” she mutters and takes the glass he’s offering.

There it is again, in his eyes, just for a moment. Force, she can’t be imagining this. Can she? He’s staring at his glass, and she immediately feels cold again.

Damn it, maybe she does need that drink.

But, just as she feared, the sparkly sweet stuff in the delicate glass is down in three gulps, and she doesn’t really feel any different.

Cassian drinks up and puts his glass down. “Alright. Are you ready?” His voice is very quiet; his eyes back on her face, waiting.

Force, she really wants to know at what point she gave him the impression that she couldn’t do this, why does he keep asking – but this isn’t the moment.

“Yeah. ‘course.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he nods and after a moment of hesitation reaches out to put his arm back around her. It feels different though – not just different from Scarif, obviously, _everything_ feels different from Scarif and she hates that she misses it – but different from earlier. His hand is resting just above her hip, but not really, and he feels extremely tense.

She lets her head fall against his shoulder, and she does _not_ enjoy the smell of soap and him and starch and the drink. Because he clearly hates this, and her hair is hanging in her face, and while that’s hiding her moving lips, it also reminds her painfully of why she _never_ wears her hair like this.

“Relax,” she hisses. “I’ve got this.”

He – _Joreth –_ pushes her hair out of her face and smiles. “Yes, you seem better on those shoes.”

Tanith rolls her eyes at him. “You could appreciate the things I’m wearing. For you.” As soon as it’s out, she isn’t sure if Tanith is supposed to be this brazen, but oh well, it’s out now.

He smiles, but there’s the slightest touch of bitterness to it. “Oh, I am,” he replies very softly, and she’s so damn confused because it’s getting harder and harder to tell Joreth from Cassian. It might be the drink. Force, she _hopes_ it’s the drink.

The plan, as far as they have one, is simple – they act drunk and silly, Cassian distracts him and Jyn steals the key in his pocket. Provided it is there. Stars, she can feel it in her bones, something at some point will go terribly wrong –

Cassian steers them towards the old director, and Tanith clutches her date’s arm, giggling. She likes the way their hands fit into each other, and his fingers are warm.

“Where are we going, Joreth?”

He gives a quiet laugh. “Somewhere without a crowd.”

Force, someday she’ll force him to tell her how he does that, how he makes his voice give just the right amount. Not even she would be able to tell the difference if she didn’t know better. And the worst of it is – stars, what she wouldn’t give to hear the real thing. She’s _ashamed_ of how much she wants that, enough to feel heat rising to her cheeks.

Well, at least blushing is in character.

“You haven’t even talked to anyone.”

“I can talk to them later,” he gives back with a shrug. They’ve almost reached the director. Tanith throws her date a pointed look, and he sighs.

“Fine,” he mutters, lets go of her hand and turns towards the officer with a jovial smile.

“Director Kerr!”

The old man looks up and frowns at them. “Oh, er – hello.”

Joreth’s easy smile doesn’t waver. “Sward, sir. I was Admiral Greendreef’s assistant when we met, I believe, must have been a few years ago.”

“Ah yes, of course,” the old director says in a valiant attempt at a lie. Clearly, he has no memory of the meeting – which is lucky, of course, because it never happened. “Yes, how have you been?”

“Been doing very well, sir, thank you. Promoted twice.”

“Well, you’ve certainly done well for yourself tonight, em-“ The man, who has evidently already forgotten the name again, glances from Tanith’s chest to the rank badge on Cassian’s chest, and adds lamely: “…captain.”

Jyn is very proud of herself for managing to not discreetly kick the old man _and_ swallow down the disgusted shiver. For a moment, she thinks she felt Cassian’s hand on her elbow twitch, but she doubts that really happened. He keeps himself in check far too well.

Cassian looks at her and fixes a smile on his lips that only looks very slightly pained. “Yes, sir, I like to think so.”

Tanith casts her eyes down to her feet with an embarrassed grin.

A waiter is making his way towards them and Jyn senses a chance to end this conversation and get this whole damn mission over with. She winds her arm out of Cassian’s grip, motions for the guy to come closer and braces herself to stand on one badly supported foot. Then she fixes Tanith’s shallow smile on her lips, raises her hand to grab a glass of sparkly alcohol but doesn’t quite reach, and when he takes another step towards her he spectacularly trips over her outstretched foot. The tray and fifteen or so flutes of orange bubbly hurl through the air, and the waiter nearly bowls Jyn off her feet. Cassian catches her almost reflexively, a string of curses – thankfully in basic – on his lips.

“Kriff, man, can’t you watch where you’re going?” Joreth snaps, making no move to help the poor boy up, while Tanith hurries over to help the director wipe shattered glass and sticky drink off his jacket.

“I am so sorry, sir,” she simpers. “Are you okay?”

The director seems deeply startled by the mayhem and the sudden proximity of the pretty young woman he’s been creepily staring at for the last few minutes. He just nods, and doesn’t notice Jyn’s hand sliding into his pocket and pulling out the small key.

“Is anyone hurt?” Joreth asks tersely, still turned away from the waiter who is scrambling to his feet, muttering excuses.

“No, no, I’m fine,” Kerr says, patting more glass off his stained trousers. “But if you’ll excuse me, I have to go change into something cleaner.”

Cassian steps closer to her while his eyes follow the director, then he reaches up to run a hand through her hair and leans closer. “That was impressive.”

“It also means he might notice it’s gone sooner,” she replies under her breath, throwing him a wonky smile that probably doesn’t look very much like Tanith.

“Then we should probably hurry,” he says in a low voice that makes her stomach all fuzzy.

Okay, she is _dangerously_ overreacting to how close he is. _Sell it, Jyn. Sell it._

She reaches up to curl her fingers around his collar, steps closer and allows herself to look straight at him, despite the risk of getting lost. Which she promptly does. Damn, why does he have to be so good at putting just the right look in his eyes?

“Think we’re selling it?”

He swallows and nods, his dark eyes bearing into hers. "Yes. I think we are," he replies hoarsely, then links his fingers with hers and pulls her out of the room.


End file.
